Rum & Cocoa
by TheGladElf
Summary: Emma wakes to an empty bed, leading to a late night heart to heart for our two lovers. Captain Swan. Set somewhere in the middle of season six (approximately). No spoilers. One shot.


Emma can't see the time when she wakes up, but she knows it is early. _Way_ too early to be up, even for old-fashioned pirates still thoroughly entrenched in the notion that the day starts with the rising sun.

Only, when she rolls over, bent on curling up against her old-fashioned pirate, he isn't there.

Ignoring the slight speeding up of her heart, she pushes up onto her elbows, shoving her hair out of her face. Cool, blue numbers glare the time at her. 2:34. Not even close to the hour Killian usually rolls out of bed to...do whatever he does before she gets up and they start puttering around the kitchen together, fixing breakfast and coffee.

Her pulse kicks up another notch, but she clamps down on the feeling with sheer logic. There are a number of reasons Killian might be up. She lists those reasons one after another as she slides out of bed, grabbing a pair of pajama pants from the back of a chair and slipping them on underneath her oversized t-shirt. It wouldn't be the first time she found both her boys chatting downstairs over late night hot cocoa and Totinos.

She only finds Killian, an elbow propped on each knee and a mug of something in his hand. He stares at the TV, though the screen is dark.

"Hey," she says, leaning against the railing. "That thing's a lot more interesting when it's on."

Killian starts, which is her first—well, second—clue that something is up. He always knows when she's there. He sets the mug down on the coffee table, rubbing his hands across his eyes as he turns to her.

"Everything alright, love?" he asks.

"Yeah," Emma says, padding across the floor. "I just woke up and you weren't there."

He lifts his arm, curling it around her waist, apology written on his upturned face. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." She leans down, kissing his forehead so he knows all is forgiven. Sitting next to him, she leans her head against his shoulder, her hand going to his heart despite the fact that she wasn't going to act all clingy. She clears her throat. This isn't about her lingering issues. "What's up?"

"Nothing."

"Ah. So you're just sitting in the dark, staring at the blank TV, sipping cocoa for funsies?" A thought striking her, she reaches for the mug. "Is there rum in that?"

"Who do you think you're talking to?"

"Is that the answer for both questions?"

Killian chuckles, the strain in his shoulders loosening. "Yes, love, there's rum in this."

Emma takes a healthy sip, ducking out from under his arm and offering the cup back to him. She leans against his back, chin on his shoulder, running her fingers through his hair as he takes another drink. She feels the remaining tension from the tilt of his head all the way to the set of his shoulders.

Pressing a kiss to one of the long scars running down his back she asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." He stares at his mug.

"Okay," Emma says, rising and heading into the kitchen.

She finds enough hot water left in the electric kettle that she doesn't have to wait for more to heat up. The less time between her and her hot cocoa the better. She's sprinkling cinnamon on her whipped cream when she hears the soft footsteps coming up behind her. Setting the cinnamon down, she turns just in time to catch the look on his face before his hand is in his her hair and he's kissing her like his life depends on it. For a long moment, she kisses him back, hands roaming, pulling him closer and offering the comfort he wants.

"Not that I'm complaining," she says when she finally pushes him away to breathe, "but are you sure you're okay?"

Heat falling from his gaze, Killian looks away. "I was just reminded of unpleasant things today. That's all."

"Hey," she says, running her hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. She leans back, the counter a hard line at her back. "You know we don't have to talk about it, but you can tell me anything."

The corner of Killian's mouth twitches up. Not into his usual smirk, but into something sadder. Darker. Emma swallows. Something tells her this isn't his usual guilty conscience talking. This is something deeper, something connected to the shadows that tend to linger in his eyes.

Emma can't read people like he does. She's better with the here and now, reading what someone is going do. She can't take one look at a person and see their past written in their eyes like he did with her, but now that she knows him—now that he is hers—she sees it all the time. Even when he's happy. Even when he forgets, she still sees the pain of his past reflected back at her. Right now, it's so strong her chest physically aches.

"It's a rather long story, Emma." His sounds so tired. "And it's late."

"Okay," she says, even though tomorrow is her day off and late is a relative term. "Let's just finish our drinks then." She picks up her mug, pushing past him, holding out her hand when he doesn't immediately follow.

This couch is a definite improvement over the one she picked out as a dark one. More suited to family movie nights and rainy afternoons curled up under the blanket with her pirate. She sits next to him, tucking her feet up onto the plush cushions, holding out her mug for a little of the rum in his flask. He chuckles and obliges, captivating her with the way he unscrews the cap with only his thumb.

He sighs, his breath warm on her scalp, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

"I talked with Regina about this weekend," Emma says. "She's said she's fine with switching."

Killian hums, taking a sip of his cocoa. "Are you sure you don't want to come?"

"No," she says, "but we probably shouldn't leave Storybrooke without both sheriffs right now. And my dad has been bugging you for, what, the last month?" She laughs shaking her head. "You two have certainly come a long way."

He nods. "Aye." He sets his cocoa down, leaning forward the way he was when she first came down, fingers tracing the scarred flesh where his hand should be. "This afternoon, when I picked Henry up from school… There was a boy... Dark hair, blue eyes, about the right age to be..."

Emma's stomach clenches as he trails off, not quite sure what he's saying, but already bracing for the new loss. How much was taken from him before the universe finally said enough?

Swallowing, he continues, "I have...or I had a younger brother, I think he'd be near Henry's age by now."

"What happened to him?" she asks, running her fingers through his hair, not even trying to figure out how this fits with his timeline.

"I happened," he says softly.

She doesn't believe it. Despite everything he has told her about his past, not for one second does she think that he really harmed this boy. She knows Killian, he wouldn't have gone that far. He would, however, blame himself if something happened because of him.

"Hey, what really happened?"

Killian shakes his head. "It's too much to tell right now, Emma."

"Nope, not doing that tonight. We both know you won't get a wink of sleep without getting this off your chest." She settles back onto the couch, cradling the mug in both hands and waits. "Killian, there is nothing you can say that's going to make me love you less."

He shakes his head. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Yeah, well, don't I deserve the chance to decide for myself?"

Somewhere deep inside he has to know she's not going to run screaming. Not anymore, but she also knows what it's like to be so wrapped up in your past you can't think rationally.

Killian sighs. "Aye, love, I suppose you're right." He stands, motioning for her to stay as he crosses into the kitchen to retrieve the mostly full bottle of rum from the liquor cabinet. They discussed locking it up, what with a teenager in the house, but Killian's threats of keelhauling should he ever catch Henry drinking before he was "of age" seemed effective enough that Emma's not worried about it. Not yet at least. He slumps back onto the couch, holding the bottle out to her. "We'll both want more of this before the tale is done."

Emma rolls her eyes, but now is not the time to tell him that he's being dramatic—honestly, when isn't he—so she just takes the bottle from him and tops off her cocoa. She goes to pour a little more for him as well, but Killian takes the bottle from her, adding a hefty helping before setting it on the coffee table.

"Hey," Emma says, stopping his mug halfway to his mouth. "I've seen the worst versions of you, remember, and I'm still here. I love you, no matter what you've done."

The hand under hers shakes and he blinks rapidly, placing the mug back on the table without drinking.

He looks at the ground, speaking softly. It's the first she hears of his childhood in detail. She knows how he got the scars on his back—it wasn't hard to put those pieces together—and she knows he grew up with only Liam watching out for him, but this is her first time hearing his father's name and just how deep betrayal that betrayal cut. He skims over the worst of his growing up; grimacing in apology at even the few gory details he gives. There are tears in her eyes by the time he tells her about meeting his father again. He recites their conversation in the tavern with such precision she knows he has turned those words over in his head many times.

And then, well, she's glad that he won't look at her when he finally confesses to murdering his father and leaving his brother an orphan. She hadn't expected that. She knew...She has always known the kind of person he was, but it still shocks her. It's dark, even for him.

Silence falls between them.

It takes Emma several moments to find her voice and even though she he won't look at her, she knows he thinks the worst.

"God, Killian," she says, her words almost too thick to get around the lump in her throat. "I am so sorry." She leans in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Maybe she should be disturbed by what he's done, but her feelings are so far from revulsion. She's proud of him for finally sharing his darkest demons with her. And she's in awe that even after all that, he had the courage to love, to reach out to a little girl who had been lost and neglected like he had.

He gapes at her like she lost her mind, fingertips brushing at her tears as though he can't believe they're there. His breath ghosts across her cheeks in short, ragged puffs. "How can you look at me like that?"

"You're pretty easy to look at."

It's not smile, but the corners of his mouth twitch. He runs his hand through his hair, before reaching for the mug of rum. He sips it, now, instead of gulping it down.

She tugs on his arm, pulling him with her as she lies back. He wraps his arms around her waist, his cheek pressed against her shoulder as they stretch out on the couch. He hums as she continues massaging his scalp.

"What happened to your brother?" she asks.

She feels his breath catch as he considers his answer.

"I imagine he came over with Regina's curse."

"Well, maybe we could find out what happened to him," she says, playing with the hair curling at the nape of his neck. He relaxes under her touch, though his face remains serious. "I can ask Regina if you want."

He lifts his head, staring up at her with wonder. "I don't deserve you."

Craning her neck, she kisses him softly. "The feeling is mutual," she whispers against his lips.

"That is absolute rubbish," he says, pushing away from her almost angrily. "He's an orphan. Because of me, Emma. Because of what I did. How can you say—"

"Hey." She follows, catching his arm before he runs off in a huff. Though where he'd go at 3 a.m. she doesn't know—and she doesn't care to find out. "All sins can be forgiven when someone loves you, remember?"

Killian deflates.

"I did not follow you to hell to be scared off by something you did three decades ago. Not when you would change it if you could." She strokes his cheek, smiling when he meets her eyes. She wishes she could spend forever, just like this. No Hyde. No Evil Regina. Nothing to disturb their little bubble. Just her and those blue eyes that look at her like she hung the stars. And then she remembers Henry and her parents and the friends she has here.

Okay, she doesn't mind a few disturbances.

"You are a saint," he says, "putting up with me like you do."

Emma shrugs. "Pretty selfish of me, actually."

He raises one incredulous eyebrow. "You? Selfish? Love, every time a crisis occurs I have to hound you to remember the basic necessities." He wrinkles his nose. "Like laundry and sleeping and showering."

"Why do it myself, when you do such a good job?" she asks, kissing him again, savoring the taste of rum and chocolate on his lips.

"Hmmm, I see. You're just using me for my body. Terribly selfish of you."

She laughs, softly because the last thing she wants right now is Henry coming down and scolding them for waking him up. She can already see his look of disapproval at having the audacity to make out on the couch when he's in the house. He's done it often enough.

"Not quite," she says.

He raise one eyebrow. "Then I fail to see how giving this old pirate his happy ending is selfish of you."

She almost laughs it off and makes a joke, but he was honest with her and she knows he would never laugh at the real reason. No, he'd cherish it.

She scoots back, taking his hand in both of hers. "Do you remember when you found me in New York and I said what I wanted wasn't in the cards for the savior?"

"Aye?" He says it reverently, with a soft smile.

"This is what I wanted."

"And by _this_ you mean…"

She bites her lip, waiting, because she knows it's coming. The little nod that means go ahead. She doesn't need it. Hasn't needed it for weeks, not since that day outside Granny's, but she loves it just the same.

He doesn't disappoint. Tilting his head just so, his whole attention on her.

She smiles. "My happy ending."

"Swan, you don't need me—"

"Yes, I do." She pauses, taking a deep breath before plunging on. "You're an important part—maybe even the most important part of it. Until you told me about—I mean, I didn't—" She sighs, taking a breath to collect her thoughts. "You were the first person that made me believe my happy ending was possible, Killian. You've crossed realms for me, you brought me home—hell, you gave up your home—"

"You are my home," he cuts in.

Emma narrows her eyes. "I am baring my soul here, would you stop interrupting?"

Pressing his lips tight together, Killian pantomimes a locking motion and then throwing the key away. She has to look away to keep from bursting into loud guffaws at his cheeky grin.

"My parents love me, they gave up everything to give me the chance to grow up, but—I _am_ all grown up now...I don't need them, not like Neal does—they can't make me a priority. Not the way you do." She shrugs, her fingers stroking up and down his forearm, finding comfort in the way his hair tickles against her palm. "The point is, you never stop fighting for me. And I will never stop fighting for you, Killian Jones." She leans in to kiss his cheek again. "I want it all—everything I never believed was possible until I met you—with you and only you."

He stares at her, awe bright in his eyes. A quiet smile creeps on his lips, the motion sending a tear trickling down his cheek. She catches it with a swipe of her thumb and wonders why she never told him this before. She makes a vow right then, to use her words more and rely less on her actions to remind him just how much he means to her.

"You might be the best thing that ever happened to me," she says, teasing.

Both eyebrows shoot up, his forehead rumpling adorably. "Might?" he says, feigning offense.

She shrugs. "I'm pretty sure. Like, eighty-three percent."

His grin widens, his eyes flashing mischievously. "Oh, well, we'll have to see about that." He surges forward, both arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against him as he captures her mouth with his own.

She breaks away, giggling softly. "Hold on there, pirate. We have company tonight..."

"Emma," he says with a little growl that does a real number on her self-control, "I am trying to romance you, now is not the time for awful puns about my profession."

"Hey! You like my puns," she says, swatting at his arm when he starts to protest again. "You like my puns," she repeats, her tone daring him to challenge her.

"Yes, dear," he says in a deadpan imitation of her father that has her giggling all over again.

"Anyways, before you so rudely interrupted me...again…"

He does that thing with his eyebrow, suggesting that he knows exactly what his interruptions do to her.

"...I was going to suggest moving somewhere where we're less likely to be interrupted by hungry teenagers."

"Ah." He grins again, tongue peeking out briefly. In one smooth motion, he's on his feet with her still in his arms. "I shall bow to your wisdom then, my lady."

Emma muffles her laughter against his shoulder as he carries her up the stairs.


End file.
